


In The Moments Before Dawn

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, based on tumblr prompt, current day-ish au, frankly i don’t know what i’m doing any more, vampire/were-lizard au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14358951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: A small snippet of the domestic partnership between a doctor-turned-vampire and his were-regnar companion.





	In The Moments Before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squeemish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeemish/gifts).



> Based on this tumblr prompt by Squeemish!

The doctor in his pristine white lab coat looks over his shoulder one last time before he ducks into the freezer. Rummaging through the supply, he reaches for the bag at the back of the pile.

_It’ll expire tomorrow. Nobody’ll notice if it’s gone._

A tiny regnar scuttles out from the shadows and comes to rest on the man’s shoe.

“Oh, how did you get in?” He remarks, picking the miniscule reptile up and tucking it in the pocket of his shirt. “The vents led you here, didn’t they, pet?”

The regnar gives a squeak.

“What, too mushy?” The doctor whispers, giving a smile. “Oh, do forgive me - it’s the only time I could call you by any term of affection without you turning away in disgust. Come on, just this once, please?”

The regnar gives a second, more agreeable squeak.

“Good.” The doctor glances at the watch on his arm. “Nearly five-thirty. We must be going. You’re going to transform back soon.”

He gives a final glance back at the security camera, knowing that it will not capture his image, and bounces the bag of dark, chilled blood in his hand.

* * *

  
The doctor and the regnar leave the hospital and walk two streets down to an apartment that belongs to a Doctor Julian Bashir. (Legally, still alive, but physically more dead than alive.)

Bashir releases the regnar from his pocket, and sends him scurrying up the wall to the apartment on the third floor, where he disappears through the small frosted glass window that serves as a vent for the toilet.

Five minutes later the window swings closed and the latch twists shut, and that’s the signal for Bashir to move upstairs.

“Not my favourite variety, but it’ll do.” Bashir remarks, as he tosses the new bag into the fridge and takes out an older, half-drained bag. “You don’t mind if I just–you know? Dig in?”

“Doctor, we’ve been together for eight months.” Garak says, lounging on the sofa in a deep green robe. “I’m certainly more than used to you and your methods of feeding.”

“Don’t mind if I do, then.” says Bashir, raising the bag. “Cheers?”

“Cheers.” Garak raises the cup of water in his right hand, and returns to staring at the crackling static on the television screen.

Bashir hungrily gulps down the remaining blood in the pack, enjoying the thick, dark, fluid like a child enjoys sweet syrup. And then he washes the pack out carefully in the sink. Garak, from the other side of the room, winces at the smell of a quarter bottle of _Easy Squeezy Lemon Dishwash_ being poured out.

“I must remember to shred that one,” says Bashir, tapping the side of his forehead. “I mean, it would be rather questionable for someone to find an empty blood bag with a corner snipped open in the dumpster. Finding shredded plastic, however, would be a lot less questionable.”

“Have you considered being more careful?” Garak asks. “You know, at this rate, you’re going to run out of hospitals to work at.”

Bashir gives a disgruntled sigh. “Have you gotten any other snacks? I’m still feeling rather peckish.”

“Not until I get to the supermarket later.” Garak places his cup on the coffee table and kicks his feet back. “But it wouldn’t matter much anyway. Those snacks won’t do any good for you anyway.”

“Mm.” Bashir joins Garak on the couch. “You know, you’re absolutely adorable in your regnar form.”

“I’ve been called many things throughout my lifetime, but adorable has certainly _not_ been one of them.” Garak huffs. “By the way, what is it with you humans and your obsession with small animals? I can hardly comprehend your collective fascination with these tiny creatures.”

“A cultural thing, perhaps,” sighs Bashir. Playfully, he leans in, and brushes a finger behind Garak’s ear.

“What, are you going to drain me now, too?” Garak retorts. He’s got more snark than alarm in that tone of voice, encouraging Bashir to play on.

“Drain the blood from the man I’ve taken as a lover and deny him his beating heart ever again?” Bashir shoots back. “Now, that would be cruel. Or I could turn you and give you a new eternal lease of life.”

“Your offer is most tempting, but I would rather stay the way I am now. It would be rather unmanageable, for me, I think, to cope with being a were-regnar and a vampire at the same time. It’s enough of a challenge for me to cope with turning into a regnar three nights out of a month.” Garak says. “Now, if you aren’t going to drain me, what on earth are you doing there?”

“Experimenting, I suppose.” Bashir pulls back, giving Garak a mischievous peck on the lips before he dives in, tracing a finger down the ridges that line Garak’s neck. Then his tongue follows, adjusting the angle of his approach so that a sharp incisor skims just the very surface of the closed scales. Garak lets out a low purr that begins in the back of his throat and Bashir feels the tremors under his fingers, under his tongue. The fabric of the sofa tightens as Garak grips at the edge of the cushion with one hand, gasping.

“My dear, are you always this frisky after feeding?”

Bashir pulls back. “Well, you’re the one who’s had to put up with me for the last eight months. I mean, after all this time, as a vampire, I’ve somehow managed to develop some sort of a desire for something _warm_.”

Garak rolls his eyes. “In case your otherwise perfectly good memory is failing you for just one instant, but I happen to be cold-blooded. You really do need to work on your deceptive skills. And as much as you’re a brilliant lover,“ He starts, his bright blue eyes making contact with Bashir’s dark, rich ones, “and you do try your very best to please, I’m afraid I simply won’t have the energy to partake in–well, whatever you’re proposing. You know how I tend to get tired after my transformations.”

“That’s fine, then.” Bashir agrees. He shifts on the sofa, lowering his head into Garak’s lap. “It’s just odd. While I know as I’m certainly as dead as dead can be, it can feel rather disorienting to still have the same awkward physical urges and needs.”

“You’re only human, I suppose.” Garak points out. “And you’ll be trapped in the body of a young man for all eternity.”

“And I’ll always be one day short of my thirtieth birthday.”

“Well, it can be said that age could be a measure of one’s experiences and learnings rather than the mere sum of one’s physical years.” Garak offers, his hand absent-mindedly dipping down into Bashir’s mess of curls. “And you’ll have plenty of experiences to come, I presume.”

“Assuming that I don’t sizzle to a crisp in the broad light of day or get stabbed through the heart any time soon, I suppose.” Bashir stops himself short. “Oh, but in case you’re worried, I have taken it upon myself to take precautions.”

“So you’re the one who got rid of all the toothpicks. Frankly, I’d even call it paranoid. And even after all those nights we spent together, you still don’t trust me?” Garak raises an ocular ridge.

“W-well.” Bashir stammers, mildly taken aback. “I mean, I don’t intend to upset you, but–“

“Never mind that, Doctor. Never mind. There’s still hope for you yet,” Garak assures, smiling down on him.

“I mean, if we’re going to be in this partnership for the long haul, we should– _hey, are you playing with my hair? Wait. You’re doing this as a distraction, aren’t you?_ ”

“Oh, the sun’s coming up. We better draw the blinds.”

“You’re avoiding our conversation! Garak, please–“

“If my memory serves, one of us brought up something about taking precautions earlier. Now, would you like to watch the sunrise as it slowly fries you or would you like to remain safely indoors?”

“You, Garak, are absolutely insufferable.” Bashir gets off the sofa, and walks over to the window. The sun peeks over the horizon, a crown of golden yellow.

With a wistful sigh, Bashir pulls the curtains together, hiding the sun and a glimpse of his old life from his view.


End file.
